didn’t mean shit when it came to the supernatural world. The rules weren’t the same.
Dread fiends weren’t wild creatures who acted on instinct. They were bred to serve, to kill. I couldn’t predict their response because it all came down to whoever had raised them, impressed their will upon them. So, while my presence might not incite them, I had no idea what would. It could be anything; a wayward fart could send them into a murderous frenzy.
A smidgen of confidence emerging at their continued immobility, I looked over their heads to the other side of the room. Well over two football fields in length, I couldn’t see anything clearly in the gloom, but I spotted an arched doorway at the far end, of course. A narrow path between the fiends led straight toward it.
No idea what lay beyond the arch, I tried to picture the layout of Lucifer’s chambers in the hopes of gaining some perspective. It wasn’t happening. The chamber was obviously built underneath, but I’d never heard so much as a whisper about it. Even with all the secrets Lucifer had shared with me, I’d never known about this place.
That meant two things: I wasn’t meant to know or they were built after Lucifer took off for parts unknown. It was likely the former, if recent revelations were any indication.
Either way, it meant that whatever was down here was here for a reason. Like a kid admonished not to peek, I suddenly felt an overwhelming desire to find out what was so important it had to be guarded by an army of dread fiends.
Have I mentioned I’m a tad bit on the impulsive side?
I put my gun away and covered it up with my shirt. Not sure what the trigger might be for setting the fiends off, I didn’t want to risk looking like I was there for a fight. Besides, if the horde woke up on the wrong side of the cave, it wouldn’t matter if I had a million guns. There just wasn’t a win buried anywhere in that massacre. It wouldn’t be but a couple of seconds before I ended up as a chunky, red coat of paint on the walls.
A quick tap to my head cleared that thought away before it could dissuade me. I drew in a deep breath and took one step into the chamber. Nothing happened. I took another and still nothing. By about the tenth step, my ass threatening to turtle, I had passed the point of no return. If they sprung awake then, I was dead.
My pretend optimism fueling my advance, I sped my pace and moved as nonchalantly as I possibly could while running my ass off. The orange shimmer of their eyes stayed on me as I passed, but they never turned their heads or moved to intercept me.
About ten yards from the archway, I nearly barreled into a wall of fiends that blocked the way. My attention on the ones behind me, I hadn’t noticed the ones in front. Breathing like a locomotive, I felt panic start to well up, but it subsided just as quickly when the fiends didn’t so much as blink.
The path cluttered, I peered over them to find a new way to the arch. There wasn’t one. Wedged tight against each other, the fiends formed a solid barrier. I thought about backing up and diving over them, but I highly doubted I’d make it. Ten yards is a long way. Ask any football team.
Flying crossed my mind, but that was a pipe dream. It went up in smoke the second it popped into my head. Images of me crash landing in their midst sprung up unbidden. Even if I managed to figure out how to fly, I couldn’t be sure they wouldn’t take offense to the use of magic. So, limited in options, there was only one more thing I could try.
Tentative, I reached my hand out and touched one of the fiends with the tip of my finger. The ooze felt warm as I yanked my finger back to keep it from being bitten off. The fiend just stood there.
A little braver, I did it again, this time laying my palm on its arm. Once more it did nothing. Its lack of response was encouraging. Thinking I could make it, I gave it a try.
My courage tucked between my legs, I squeezed between the closest two fiends, their stench making my eyes water. Neither moved, but their bodies were so rigid they didn’t even sway as I pressed against them. The greasy pus slathered across their bodies made it easier to slide past, though I felt like I was crawling out of an infected boil.
In the second rank, I slipped between two more and found myself surrounded in the third. Packed even tighter, there wasn’t any room for me to get by. Since it didn’t make any sense to go backward, it would have to be forward.
Careful not to bump the fiends, I gently leaned my shoulder against theirs and exerted some pressure. It was as though I were pushing against a brick wall. I’d managed to slide through a couple of inches, but they weren’t budging. As I got to my chest, it was like squeezing a watermelon through a dog’s ass; it just wasn’t happening.
Determined to get through, I put my weight into the move and I slid a few more inches but was unable to go further. While not quite the immovable object, they were as close as I would ever see. Worried I might wake them if I pushed any harder, I tried to back out only to find I was stuck.
Wedged between their arms, I had one elbow grinding into my spine while the other pressed into my stomach, the fiend’s hand grazing my crotch. Even as easy as I am, it didn’t feel good.
Unable to go either way without a jolt, I got up on my toes and tried to save some space that way. It didn’t quite work out as planned. Only able to lift up a little, I was still stuck, only less comfortably.
The stifling air was filled with the stink of dread fiend, every breath was torture. I could taste the decay. My stomach grumbled, compressed as it was between pointy elbows. To make things worse, an oozing pustule broke open on the shoulder of the fiend before me.
Yellow-green goop boiled out of it and ran like a putrid caterpillar down the fiend’s arm and onto my chest. It soaked through my shirt, its pulsing warmth lapping at my skin. Spurred on by the biochemical assault upon my sensibilities, I tried one last time to slip past, but I remained stuck. I pushed harder and then harder still, squirming to be free. They didn’t budge.
“Move damn it!” The words were out of my mouth before I’d even realized I said them.
To my horror, they did. The pressure suddenly relieved, I fell on my ass as the fiends stepped away, the room filled with a horrific symphony of snarls and rumbling growls.
On the ground, surrounded by dread fiends, I did what any self-respecting hero would do in my situation. I curled up into a ball and pleaded for my life.
To my utter and complete surprise, it worked.
After a few moments of me sitting there with nothing being gnawed off, I suddenly realized the room had gone quiet again. I dared a peek past my forearms to see the fiends were still there, but they’d gone rigid once more.
I uncovered my face completely and glanced around the room to find they’d stepped to the side, pressing into an even tighter group than before. Amazingly, the path to the arch was clear.
A tentative sigh of relief slipping out, I got up and willed my feet forward before they changed their minds. The last few yards flew by and I reached the doorway, casting furtive glances inside to make sure I wasn’t walking into an even worse situation.
The room beyond free of dread fiends, I went inside in a hurry. As I crossed the threshold, magical flares along the walls flickered alive, filling the room with gentle light. A closet in comparison to the fiend room, the walls of the chamber were carved at odd angles, sharp corners jutting into the room. It took me a second as I moved around, but I realized it had been cut in the shape of a pentagram.
On the furthest wall was another tunnel that had been recently dug judging by the rough edges. Broken rock and gray dust sat at the mouth, piled several feet thick. I ducked around the opposite side to keep the tunnel in sight as I surveyed the rest of the chamber.
In the center of the room, upon a raised dais of blackened marble, stood a trophy case, kind of like the ones used to showcase sports uniforms. Its muted gold frame was intact, but the glass that made up the front wall was shattered. Pieces lay on the ground before it, glistening in the light.
On its remaining walls were elaborate, mystical symbols etched into the glass. The writing flowed along the breadth of the glass and seemed to segue seamlessly from one to another, its sequence lost only at the shattered pane. Though I couldn’t read a word of it, it was written beautifully.
That meant bad.
In general, magic is ugly. Based in a primal brutality, it comes to life in fire and fury through sheer force of will. It’s the battering ram and the bullet.
Now when you get into symbols and scripts, it means the mystical energy has been harnessed to a specific use, which is most often defensive or meant to counter offensive magic. Crude symbolism limits its potential, the essence of magic born of imagination and creativity. Like art, the more beautiful, the more transcendent, the more
